


The Eye of the Storm

by Moonsault, orphan_account



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Kayfabe Compliant, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-12-09 05:39:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11662737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonsault/pseuds/Moonsault, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Tommaso goes in for knee surgery alone, because no one else will be there for you, you have to do it yourself.  He's made sure of that.





	The Eye of the Storm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RedLeaderfic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedLeaderfic/gifts).



“Can I do this without anesthesia?”

The nurse stares at Tommaso as though he’s insane. “No,” he says after a moment.

“I don’t like--I don’t like going under,” Tommaso says. _It feels like dying, like drowning; struggling back up through it like swimming through syrup, unable to breathe, struggling to break the surface._ “I don’t like it,” he says again.

“This surgery is not happening without anesthesia,” the nurse says firmly, and because Tommaso has to have the surgery, because he has to come back and win the NXT championship, has to prove to himself it was worth it--he nods and resigns himself.

He doesn’t feel resigned when he’s on the gurney, though, and they’re rolling him through the halls wearing only a fucking skimpy little nightie. He stares up at the ceiling and tries not to panic, tries to keep his breathing even. It’s just panic, he can deal with that. He’s dealt with it in the past: the feeling when everything is out of control and you’re helpless, tossed by fate, just a bit of paper in the wind. _Replaceable._ He takes deep breaths and tries to remember how he dealt with it those other times.

Oh yeah, he’d dealt with it by attacking and brutalizing his tag team partner. That’s right. Tommaso closes his eyes and feels the gurney carrying him onward, hears the murmur of the medical staff, smells the antiseptic. Had Johnny been hurried down a hallway like this in Chicago? Had he been afraid and alone, in pain, confused? He’d reached out to Tommaso as if Tommaso weren’t the one hurting him. Why hadn’t he fought back? Was he in too much pain, too horrified to react? What had he been thinking, what had he been feeling?

By the time they put the gas mask on him Tommaso’s almost eager for the darkness.

* * *

In the dark, there’s nothing but the sound of Johnny’s labored breathing, each breath a sob. There’s pain, but it’s very far away, as far away as Johnny’s eyes. Tommaso struggles toward it, trying to reach it and embrace it, the pain that he deserves. But it recedes from him and leaves him alone again.

* * *

Everything’s confused and makes no sense as he tries to drag himself up out of the fog of anesthesia. It clings to him and he can’t remember why he hurts so much. He just knows he needs to get to the ring, someone’s crying in the ring and he needs to get to them.

There are orderlies and interns saying things, but he can’t understand them, he has to get to the ring, why won’t they _listen_? He tries to explain to them but words are like shattered glass in his mouth. He hears himself making noises.

He hears himself saying a name.

And then he can’t move, there’s something holding his arms and legs down and no, _no._ Panic breaks over him like a cold wave and he screams and thrashes against the restraints. The orderlies are talking about keeping calm but he can’t, he _can’t,_ until he hears a quiet voice saying his name and feels a hand on his shoulder. He can’t get his eyes to focus, the ceiling and the lights swing wildly and he can’t see who it is, nothing makes any sense.

The voice is still speaking, saying something about _silence_ , and Tommaso grabs at it like it’s the only thing keeping him sane. “The silence in the ring just before the bell rings,” the voice is saying. “The way the noise of the crowd can seem so far away. The peace of it, that moment when everything is focused. The feel of the ring beneath your feet, how it dances beneath you, how it holds you up. Think of the quiet inside the noise, the peace within the roar.”

Tommaso remembers it. He lets it sink into him and fill him, and feels his heartbeat slowing, the terror backing off. He’s still confused and lost and unsure of where he is, but he’s no longer afraid.

No longer alone.

He drifts back into sleep for a moment, letting it touch him, unafraid of the dark now. When he comes back up into light again, the voice is still talking, low and soft:

“The silence in the heart of the battle, that’s what you always were to me. The bright blue eye of the storm, the clarity in the chaos.”

A hand touches his forehead and Tommaso sighs at the cool touch. He’ll remember the voice eventually, he’s sure. 

“I’ll face you in the ring soon enough. We’ll meet again in the heart of the hurricane, and then we’ll see what happens.” 

The voice is very near him now, but Tommaso is too tired to open his eyes. There’s a reason he doesn’t want to remember. 

“You and me, Tommaso,” it says, and it’s husky with pain. “You and me in the ring. I’ll fight you forever, but I’ll never replace you.”

Tommaso feels someone take his hand in a cool grip and lift it. He feels lips framed by beard press into the knuckles.

“I never could,” the voice--so familiar, so familiar, _no_ \--says.

And then his hand is released and he hears the door close, and he’s alone again.

After a moment, his eyes still closed against sick vertigo, he raises his hand to his own mouth. There’s water on the back of his hand. He tastes salt and tries for as long as he can not to realize whose tears those are.

Tries to stay there in the eye of the storm for as long as he can.


End file.
